Adoration
by Silawen
Summary: Shawn is left alone and broken after the drama at New Year’s Resolution. A surprise visit from an old acquaintance might just change that. HBKCJ Slash.
1. Adoration

**Adoration?**

The locker room was quiet and all was still, except for the persistent ticking of a nearby clock. Blue eyes were staring at the clock, following the movement of the hand as it passed various numbers. He'd been trying to calm himself down for a while now, hoping to ignore the pain in his legs, but even the dull movement of the clock made his head spin. His legs were sore, his back was killing him, and images of his best friend crumpling to the floor kept reappearing in his head. If only he could forget about it altogether.

He groaned and stared at the floor, one hand rubbing circles on his lower back. That last spot had been too much, but he knew that to distract people long enough for them to forget that Hunter's table didn't break – no, something else did – he would have to put on a good show. So, some posing and measuring later he found himself sprawled across Randy's chest uncomfortably, the boy asking by mere body-posture – like the hand lightly touching his - if he was alright. Shawn remembered the vivid red of blood, then the soft murmur that he was fine, before he got back to his feet again.

Even now it made him shudder: the thought of his friend going for a pedigree on an announcers table while his leg was a mess. He held his head in his hands, feeling a lurking headache touch ground. No, this was not a good day at all.

The door opened and Shawn nearly cried out in pain as his head snapped up. It was surreal to see who was standing there, though somewhere it fit. Chris Jericho, dressed much more low-key now that he'd left wrestling behind. The expression on his face was solemn; enough to tell Shawn that he'd seen the match.

"I figured I'd find you in here, seeing as all the other wrestlers are hovering outside wondering whether to enter or not."

He would have shrugged, if he hadn't been in pain. He'd realized he might be keeping people out, but he wasn't actively doing so, and it was honestly their choice. His presence shouldn't keep them from using the locker room. He was quite willing to share.

"Hmm," was his reply as he put his hands on his knees, staring at his DX ring gear, "Figures you're here. I guess you jinxed him again."

"Guess so. Pay-back for the dog storyline, perhaps."

"Perhaps," Shawn said, smiling at the memory of witnessing that.

"Shawn, are you okay? That was some match."

The concern in the man's voice was obvious, and for a moment it startled him. He looked up to see concern in the man's blue eyes, laced by something that could be seen as many things by the untrained eye Shawn had seen it many times before, though. Adoration, utter adoration, mixed with worry. He suddenly felt frustrated, annoyed, a slight whine to his voice as he spoke.

"Chris, please don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't look at me like that."

The confusion was clear on the Canadian's face, his startling eyes filling with unanswered questions. Probably something along the lines of 'what the fuck' or other things he would have shouted had it been anyone else. Hunter would have been snapped at by now, or at least asked what he was on about, but not with him. With the Heartbreak Kid he just seemed to wait, knowing he'd either be told what had been meant or asked to leave. They hardly knew each other, but Chris knew _that_ . Perhaps fate had been trying to tell Shawn something.

"Don't look at me like I'm some sort of hero. Hunter's the hero; he's the one that just finished a match with a ruined leg. I deserve no one's admiration.

His headache had increased. The pounding served an annoying soundtrack to the mess that were his thoughts. If only he could turn it off or at least pick out something less devastating to his ability to think. His eyes burned, his muscles twitched painfully with every move, and not for the first time he wished he could take a painkiller for his aching back. He was emotionally and physically drained. Then he felt tugging at his boots and he opened his eyes to see Chris kneeling in front of him, fingers carefully pushing his pants up a bit and untying boots. Shawn watched, simply watched, as the younger man deftly removed his footwear. A dramatic sniff, a face of distaste that made Shawn smile, then boots were thrown across the room. He could hear them land with a thud, but he was too tired to even look to see where. For all he knew they were now stinking up someone else's spot.

"Don't worry," Chris murmured, his voice soft. "I don't do obsessive hero-worship. Not with fellow wrestlers, anyway. That's what storylines are for."

He looked up, and Shawn could still see the adoration in his eyes. It confused him, yet also worried him. He could handle admiration, had gotten used to it during his last years here. It was definitely ego-stroking to hear about other wrestlers respecting him, seeing him as a role-model, having grown up idolizing him. Yet at the same time it made him feel old. He saw men wrestle with him that had grown up watching him, wanting to be him, and had made it all the way. They weren't all young anymore, either. Most had grown, learned, and were now starting to become big names in their own right. But still, he could definitely handle admiration, if it were that.

It was quite clear that it wasn't that, though. Besides Chris' rather frank words, it had also been clear by the way he treated him. Rarely had Shawn been approached with the casualness Chris had shown during their angle. He would smile, greet Shawn, and then continue on his way. No awestruck glances, no bumbling words. No, behind the scenes Chris seemed fairly confident about himself.

Had he and Chris been closer friends, and had Chris been bigger and older, then he might have contributed it to the 'big brother' syndrome, much like the one Hunter suffered. He knew his best friend had a protective streak to him, and Shawn was often the recipient of said streak. That couldn't be the case, though, since Chris was not a close friend of his, or almost 7 foot in height.

That left one option. A crush. An adoration that was about him, not his status, and that had evolved. Crushing on the Showstopper wasn't an unheard-of phenomenon. Shawn wouldn't openly brag about it, but he had his fair share of admirers, both in the present and in the past. Some were a bit more forward about it than most, but he'd never even considered Chris to be one. He'd always seemed different, reluctant. It had been exactly that stance that had interested Shawn so.

"You should take a shower, Shawn, if you're hell-bent on not going to the medics. It'll help."

Concern. Worry. It was rather refreshing. Especially after spending so much time with a frantic Stephanie and the entire medical crew running around trying to make The Game as comfortable as possible. A pang of guilt made its way through him at that, leaving him to wonder how he could be so self-centered. He hadn't been the one injured; all he suffered were the usual aches and pains. Okay, so they were worse than most people's, and he couldn't use medication to take the pain away, but it was nothing compared to his friend's situation. Months in rehab; he knew how tough that was. How could he have even whined about it?

"If you wanted to get me naked then you could have outright asked," he muttered, wondering immediately afterwards when he had become so jaded and cruel.

Chris didn't sound upset. But who was he to judge?

"That's not what I'm after."

An arm wrapped around his waist, causing Shawn to clench his teeth in discomfort. He leant into the other man's body as he was pulled to his feet, firm hands holding onto his hips in an attempt to relieve his back. He was close to Chris now, the clean smell of him intoxicating. Perhaps it was because he himself was so sweaty and gross, or because his senses had been on an overload for a while now, but he didn't really question it. He just let his head rest on Chris' shoulder, the symbolic meaning of that not lost on him, and relished in the comfort it brought him.

He was almost carried to the shower, his dignity long left behind. It didn't really matter though, because this was Chris. He adored him, didn't he? Surely he would never tell. Besides, who would he tell it to? His fellow Canadians? A lovely bunch, but why should they care? It wasn't like he was backstage much either, so it was very hard to gossip. That and he didn't want to be strong right now, not for Chris, not for Hunter, not for himself.

Soon he found himself naked and immersed in warm water pounding down on him. He was leaning heavily against the slippery tiles of the wall, his head down as he felt the soothing waves wash over his body. A sigh escaped his lips, thoughts running through his head at a frantic pace. Hunter, Vince, the WWE. With Hunter out, who knew what they wanted to throw at him. He suddenly felt like Atlas, but one with an already broken back.

Another sigh, and he looked up somewhat, catching a glimpse of Chris still standing next to him. He had a towel in his hands now, using it to shield himself. For the most part it worked, but Shawn could see small signs of water on his shirt, the moisture on his face. He knew that if he looked down he would see the man's pants and shoes thoroughly soaked. He didn't though, because that would mean he had to acknowledge something else as well. That he was naked in front of Chris. Still, it could have been worse, it could have been Viscera.

The moment Shawn stepped away from under the showerhead he felt the large fluffy towel wrap around his waist. Muttering thanks, he tucked it in, watching as Chris followed him out. There was still concern on his face, but less than he'd seen earlier. A good sign, probably.

"You know, usually you're a really chatty person. What happened?" Shawn asked, grabbing clean clothes from his bag as Chris sat down on a nearby bench. Blue eyes regarded him, in one way thoughtful and sad in the other.

"Tonight happened."

"Yeah." Shawn sighed. "There's that." A pause in conversation, and Shawn stared at his bag.

"He'll be fine, you know," Chris whispered, his tone reassuring.

"I know."

He heard Chris get up, could imagine the wry grin on the man's face as he stared at himself in the mirror. His pants were ruined, and his shoes probably as well, he had to look slightly strange. Shawn didn't look, though, not at that. He looked back to stare at the adoration in the man's eyes, still there. Had it always been there? In the ring he'd assumed it was simply excellent acting, knowing where the Jericho/Michaels angle came from. That adoration turned so easily into hate, though he'd always been able to see the amusement behind that. Yes, perhaps it had always been there.

Chris had moved to the door by the time Shawn had finished his long-winded thought process. Shawn gingerly threw a shirt over his head as Chris opened the door. It was clear that he was leaving.

"Chris…?"

Blue eyes met each other. One pair seemed worn with age, the other branded by concern and underlying sadness.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you visit, remind me of this."

A small smile and a nod, then the door closed and Shawn was left to stare at it for a few seconds. He shook his head, and then continued getting ready. After a while he heard the sound of nervous voices from behind the closed door, and he righted himself. Time to go back to work.


	2. Concern

"I thought you said you didn't want to team up with anyone but Hunter?"

Shawn didn't look up, though he had to chuckle as he recognised the voice. The tape he'd been unwrapping from his wrists was hastily thrown to the side, dangling on the edge of a trashcan before falling to the floor. He'd clean that up later; right now he was just glad that -- for once -- blood had not tainted the sticky tape.

"Hello, Chris," he murmured, raising his head to look at the figure in the doorway.

Even though the same thing had happened not long ago, he was still surprised to see Chris Jericho leaning against the doorpost. It was familiar, having seen him walk around these parts for years, yet he had changed. Physically he was different, his body thinner though still filled with strength, and his hair no longer rolling down his back, instead much shorter and barely falling in his eyes. The biggest change was internal, though. Instead of constantly wondering what to do next, how to impress others by some marvellous stunt, or trying to remember what he could and couldn't say, he looked calm, at peace, sure of himself. He wasn't obligated to do anything anymore, at least not where wrestling was concerned. He'd probably be wise enough and stay clear of whatever would make Vince think that offering him a job again would be stupid, but there was more of a carefree air about him.

Shawn wondered what to answer, what to say that didn't sound too petty. He realised he'd been quiet for a lot longer than expected, wondering about how Chris had changed, but the younger man hadn't said a thing, merely remained leaning against the wooden frame, watching. Thinking about Chris' comment, he was struck by the knowledge that Chris was bringing up something that had been said on Raw a while ago. He'd been watching. The thought made Shawn smile, though he wasn't sure why. Probably the irony of someone so happy to be gone still watching the thing he'd left.

"I did say that, and I meant it. Unfortunately, what I want isn't always what Vince wants."

It could have come out bitter, but it didn't. He knew how this business worked, and even though he'd much rather not team up with someone besides Hunter, that wasn't how things were done. Not even when the Showstopper was concerned. The business wouldn't change to benefit him, even though there had been so many times when he'd sworn it had. It would to a degree, but only if whatever happened benefited the business as well, probably because of the loyalty created. It would only go so far.

"Vince needs you. Adam is good, but he cannot carry both Orton and Cena to a point where they can care about more than just their appearance. John's been rattled enough, he doesn't need the pressure."

He was right, of course, and it was exactly why Shawn had understood. If only his body could stop screaming at him about it. Jumping brands constantly, one night on Smackdown, the next on Raw, did nothing but tire him, cause him to walk around in a daze. The daze was good, though, because if he really paid attention he'd notice the strain in his own voice, the way his muscles twitched annoyingly when he walked up stairs, hell, he'd notice all the things he should have been aware of but didn't want to. Mark had expressed his concern, that one evening after Smackdown, but Shawn had waved it away, instead mentioning the improvement Dave Batista had gone through lately. Mark had looked at him for a bit longer, but had then allowed Shawn to change the subject. Some people knew him too well.

"I know." He tiredly wiped at his eyes, glad there was no mirror in sight because he knew he'd find his eyes slightly red, with lines surrounding them that weren't there before. It was an annoying reminder of how horrible he felt, the temporary high of so many people chanting his name wearing off way too soon. He didn't just age, he broke down. People often compared life to the fast-lane, always buzzing with traffic and the fastest way to get where you wanted to go. Well, if life was the fast-lane, then he was that old, dusty pick-up truck, only barely keeping up with the shiny new toys, but bound to break down sooner or later. He knew it; he felt it.

Pain shot up his spine as he reached for his bag, but the sensation was ignored. He'd been distracted by Chris, so it had taken longer for that particular assault to sink in, but he knew it would have shown up eventually. It always did, though years of living with it had taken the edge off. It was one of those things that he had to live with, and he'd learned how.

"Your back, I presume?"

Chris was closer now, bending down to grab a hold of the bag, dropping it next to Shawn on the bench. For a second Shawn resented him, felt jealous at the ease with which his current companion did things like picking up a bag, but then he shook his head at himself. It wasn't fair to Chris, to anyone, to think like that. He'd gotten more in return than most had, and he knew that if he could do it all over, he wouldn't change a thing. Hunter would say it was because he was an attention whore - but then Hunter was vulgar - whereas Shawn preferred calling it living his passion. The latter sounded better in a biography anyway.

"Of course."

He realised that he'd have to hurry up. It had become a habit of most of the younger stars to wait till he'd finished showering, out of respect for him and talking to Chris had slowed him down. Usually he'd be out of the building by the time his back started aching, not sitting on an uncomfortable bench in some generic locker room.

Hoisting himself to his feet, lacking any kind of grace, he took the towel Chris offered to him and walked over to the shower, clothes thrown on the floor as he moved. Chris had seen him naked before – and in a worse state – he wasn't going to get self-conscious now.

"How is Hunter doing?" Chris asked, barely audible over the noise of the shower. He had sat down, now occupying the spot Shawn had been sitting at earlier. A hand brushed through short hair, and Shawn could not help but notice how different he looked, even through the water tumbling down, like leaving the wrestling world behind had changed him completely. And not for the worse, either, though if Shawn was being honest he'd admit that he preferred the longer hair.

"Like you care," he said, grinning at the chuckle that elicited.

There was something strange about this situation. Not that Shawn was naked, showering, and talking to Chris at the same time, though that wasn't normal in itself, nor the fact that Chris was asking about Hunter – they'd never been great friends – but something Shawn couldn't pinpoint. He wished he could, it seemed important.

"I don't, but you do. How is his recovery? Will he be returning soon?"

Shawn could well remember the way Chris and Hunter treated each other. It wasn't open hostility, not even hidden annoyance, but still they never really got along. They'd be perfectly fine making small-talk, but whenever something serious happened to be brought up they'd clamp shut, not willing to share personal things with the other. (that's highlighted just because it's a perfect example of what I was talking to you about the other day in terms of sentence structure. There are maybe more concise ways to put things, but I'm reluctant to suggest it because it would be changing your style, and that is something I would NOT suggest doing!)It was like they didn't want to get to know each other, and it had been another reason why Shawn and Chris never really got the chance to talk. Shawn would feel guilty, knowing Hunter would roll his eyes and make snide comments, and Chris didn't seem like he wanted to either.

"He's doing fine, of course. He's never been able to do anything just halfway decent. He has to do it faster and better than anyone else. With some luck he'll be back in time for Summerslam."

He grabbed his shampoo, massaging it in and then quickly rinsing it out. He wanted to see Chris' reaction and he couldn't do that with his eyes closed. He was sure there'd be amusement and some sort of annoyance. That was usually the reaction Chris had to Hunter, or at least to people talking about him. This time all Chris did was smile, though, and again Shawn was certain he was missing something.

The hot shower had done wonders for his back, momentarily at least, and he forgot to be careful as he walked out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his waist and almost falling flat on his back in the process. Quickly he regained his balance, looking up to see the alarm in Chris' eyes.

"Careful," the other man muttered, slowly sitting down again. Shawn hadn't even noticed he'd moved. What he i did /i notice was the burning sensation in his cheek. How very stupid of him to forget where he was. How very embarrassing, too, no wonder he was blushing. He'd never been able to live down humiliation well, but at least this one wasn't that bad.

Shawn smiled sheepishly. "Uhm, so, do your regular visits mean you're returning to us soon?"

"Nah, I've been at TNA too. Keeps everyone guessing," (LMAO!!!) Chris said, grinning slightly.

"TNA?"

He was curious to see if Chris would catch the lie of acting clueless. He didn't have to ask about TNA, everyone knew. The difference between him and Chris was, however, that he was still WWE, while Chris was in between. He could go either way, but right now he was neither.

"Oh, yeah, TNA doesn't exist, sorry about that."

Shawn chuckled. He knew Chris was joking, figured that he'd thrown in the TNA comment just to make fun of where they were. The WWE was like a lion munching on its kill, allowing the vultures to come in and pluck a bit of meat from the carcass. The lion would allow it, more concerned with its own piece than what was left, but would occasionally – seemingly out of nowhere – strike out at the bird, showing its dominance. The WWE was the lion, TNA the vulture, and the rotting carcass the men and women forever changed due to the industry. It was a sombre thought, very bleak, but Shawn knew that even among the animals of Africa, some survived, escaped the perils, and died of old age. He planned to be like that.

"You'd fit in at TNA, you know. They'd make you a star," Shawn commented, knowing it was true. Chris would probably be a bigger star there than at the WWE. Still, Chris seemed to see the WWE as his home, which could change how the man saw things.

Chris had never been given the chances he'd deserved, Shawn knew. Politics, like it did with all things in life, never ceased to ruin careers. The man had taken it all in stride, though, and had done what he could with the things he'd been given. Crappy storylines or not, the fans had always backed him. It was strange that he'd never become more of a star, like Rock or Austin, but perhaps he'd just lacked the will to screw others over. It was a necessary skill required, Shawn knew, if you wanted to make it big. Oh yes, he definitely knew, he'd accomplished everything he had that way. He respected Chris for it, though he'd always wondered what could have become of the charismatic and athletic man had things been different.

"I know. I'm not sure that's what I want, though. I don't want to i be /i a star, I want to become one," Chris answered, giving a wry smile as Shawn looked at him in confusion.

It appeared that there was some subtle difference there, though Shawn had trouble figuring out what exactly it was. He was pretty sure the way his face scrunched up when he was confused – Hunter had held up a mirror once – amused Chris, though, because his eyes had that familiar twinkle in them again. He didn't mind, there was something almost satisfying about making the guy smile, even though it was pretty easy to accomplish.

Letting the issue go, not sure he was in a position to ask for an explanation, Shawn absently started dressing, all the while watching Chris. Chris hadn't explained why he was here yet, just like he'd never really said anything last time. Shawn was curious to find out where these surprise appearances would lead, though, and secretly he feared that the easy conversation they had going would turn into another stressing factor he had to worry about once things got more personal. He was reluctant to let it become as such, because it was rather refreshing to talk to someone like this.

"Isn't Benoit jealous that you're visiting Raw instead of Smackdown?"

A hint of surprise in those blue eyes, and then humour again. It felt rather good, knowing he had surprised Chris Jericho. He obviously hadn't expected Shawn to bring up things that would interest Chris more than they would Shawn, or perhaps he'd thought Shawn hadn't paid any attention at all to Chris' friendships.

"He shouldn't be. I spend more time phoning him than I spend phoning my wife. Though she isn't constantly travelling, and I don't use her to stay in touch with wrestling, so the comparison is pretty moot."

"So, you visit Raw because…? If you have Benoit feeding you information, then why bother showing up at live shows?"

"Hey, I didn't say I trust everything the guy says." Chris chuckled. "Besides, I figured with Hunter gone i someone /i has to keep an eye on you, and the only people I trust to do that are on Smackdown. Though I could be using that as an excuse to watch wrestling again, who knows?"

There was a strange sensation fluttering around in his stomach, though Shawn pushed it aside. Part of him was angry at Chris for acting like he was a five year old that needed guidance, and then there was the part of him that was annoyed because he made a joke out of something so serious. However, there was also the part that felt…appreciated. Knowing that people cared, that Chris cared, it was quite a foreign sensation. Usually people expected him to be the one to worry about what was going on, to make it right. He was Shawn Michaels, after all, and all his years in the business should mean that he had a clue, unlike everyone else who were still trying to figure out what the this business was all about.

Shawn was the poster child for bad choices, no matter how his wrestling career looked to outsiders. Yet now he was supposed to be one of wrestling's pillars, support it and not snap in two under the weight. Hunter cared, cared a great deal, but he was feeling the strain as well. And he had a family of his own to support, one that was much more a part of wrestling than Shawn's. Shawn couldn't ask him to share his load, nor to take on even more. It wasn't right.

"I don't need people to keep an eye on me."

A lie, but what else could he say? He was in his forties, a huge star in a multimillion business; he couldn't admit he felt like he was breaking. The look of sadness in Chris' eyes shocked him, caused his breath to catch, but Chris seemed to regroup soon enough, getting up from the bench and heading for the door. He nodded, something Shawn barely caught as he sat there staring.

"Chris, wait.."

Chris turned. "Yes?"

"You haven't reminded me of last time yet."

"I'll remind you when it matters."

"And when will that be?"

The smile on Chris' face didn't say much, though his eyes shone with amusement again. Strange. There was a cat-and-mouse quality to their conversations, though he wasn't sure who the cat was and who the unfortunate prey about to be swallowed.

"I don't know. We'll see."

Shawn watched him leave, just like last time. He wondered if this was going to be a pattern. Two times didn't mean anything, but the things Chris had said indicated this wasn't all. There was something there, a hint of a promise, like Chris was curious to see if Shawn would figure out what he had planned. It should have been disconcerting, but Shawn felt relieved, happy to talk about things with someone who wouldn't see them as an attack on him, or on their boss. For once he had been talking to someone who didn't care, who didn't mind listening, but would have been just as happy talking about the weather, or something equally as mundane. It was refreshing, like he'd stepped out of the clammy grasp of wrestling, slipped away from his responsibility to the business, and had walked into a vibrant garden full of life.

Then the aches returned, and the dull brown of the door reminded him of where he was. Fingers rubbed his legs out of habit and he could feel the painful pulling sensation in his muscles. Soon his back would flare up again, pushed back now because of the more urgent pain in his thighs and the earlier shower. That was usually how it worked. One pain cancelled out the other, until there was nothing left to cancel out and they all attacked him at once. He was used to it, knew it would happen while travelling, or when he was in an elevator a couple of feet from his hotel room. Always when he i almost /i expected to make it, thought he could escape the pain just this once. Never when he was prepared.

Sighing, he grabbed for his phone. Now seemed like a good time to call Hunter. If his friend was feeling like he was, then he'd welcome the distraction. Hell, who knew, perhaps Shawn would tell him about Chris, though he doubted it. That seemed like one secret he'd better keep to himself. At least for now.

"Hey, buddy, how are you?" he asked quietly, throwing the bag over his shoulder and walking out the door, eyes looking to see if he could spy Chris, but failing. Eventually he walked out the entrance of the building, a smile on his face as he tried to let Hunter know what Chris had shown him earlier; that he cared.


	3. Curiosity

Author's Note: This story assumes that the 'rumours' about HBK being very annoyed at Cena's no-selling were true. It makes for more angst, heh.

This was really becoming a recurring theme. Shawn, finding himself alone, in a locker room that would otherwise be buzzing with people. It upset him, secretly, to realise that so many of the boys chose to leave the moment he showed his face. He didn't want to feel different, or like he was above them. Too many years of that had changed him, i he'd /i changed. Dully he watched as Randy Orton entered the room, nodding in greeting before grabbing his bag and leaving again. Even i he /i didn't intend to stay. Was Shawn that difficult to hang with? Surely his personality had changed to the point where he shouldn't be threatening to anyone? Well, anyone except John Cena.

Shawn scowled, pushing back the annoyance at his younger colleague. Instead he showered quickly, hoping to find Hunter as soon as he was ready to be out in public again. It would mean having to rid himself of all the blood and sweat – at least he'd made Cena bleed as well – and pretend he wasn't feeling the aftermath of a pretty tiring match, though.

Eventually he found himself in the hallway, trying to peer through and over the masses – or dozens of people at least – and find the familiar form of his best friend. It had been too long since they'd really talked, and he knew Hunter was here. Injured or not, his friend wasn't going to miss Wrestlemania. In fact, Shawn had enjoyed talking to him after the Hall of Fame ceremony, however briefly. He longed to talk to someone that understood him, instead of some brash kid that refused to sell Shawn's moves. John Cena was a good guy, but right now Shawn was ready to hit him over the head with Hunter's sledgehammer.

"He's in the lobby with Steph and the baby."

Ah, another person he'd expected to see. Not that anyone had informed him that Chris Jericho would be there, but he'd had a hunch that the self-proclaimed rock star wouldn't be able to stay away from the feast that was Wrestlemania. No real wrestlers could; retired or not. They'd always care about the biggest night of the year.

"And who says I was looking for Hunter? I could have been looking for you."

Chris just smiled, and Shawn brushed a hand through his still wet hair, taking in the dishevelled appearance of his current companion. Not very Wrestlemania-like, and a right insult to the memory of the ghastly pants and sparkly outfits Chris had so often worn. Nothing at all like the character of Chris Jericho. He looked more like he'd been playing in the park with his son and randomly decided to show up at the most star-studded event of the year.

"You weren't looking for me, Shawn. We all know that the only person you stand on your toes for is Hunter. Besides, with me you'd only have to listen to the awed gasps of my many fans. I'm easy to locate."

There was a twinkle in Chris' eye that Shawn envied. Being able to joke around like that, it was something he so rarely did these days. Without Hunter around he'd gotten homesick, and even Ric – bless his heart – couldn't make him feel better. Ric's idea of a good time conflicted with his, and no matter how hard the older man tried, he wasn't Hunter.

The man standing next to him wasn't either, but the carefree air of someone no longer under the thumb of Vince – or wrestling in general – remained refreshing, and Shawn had to admit that there had been slight hope on his part that Chris would be there, if only to hear the man talk nonsense. He didn't need deep conversations with the guy, just a way to escape the serious nature of wrestling and talk with someone who didn't want to get 'the rub' by being a friend of his. Besides, he'd found out he enjoyed spending time with Chris.

"You're easy to locate because you smell, Chris. What did you do before you came here, roll around in the mud?"

A laugh, one that caused Shawn to smile. It was an infectious sound, and he soon found himself grinning. It hadn't been that funny, but if Chris enjoyed it, then who was he to deny him?

"You always were a charmer. No, I didn't roll around in the mud, though it's a tempting thought. I wasn't doing anything important, to be honest. Just cleaning out the closet, throwing away things I no longer need." He shrugged. "Something suddenly made me decide to accept Vince's invitation. I didn't want to change my mind, so I just left."

That sounded like Chris, alright, just slightly too impulsive for his own good. It seemed a bit irresponsible as well, but Shawn wouldn't be the one to bring that up. There was a certain charm to just packing up your things and leaving, one he could definitely understand. Chris was lucky to have the freedom.

"What prompted you to come? I doubt it was the memory of the last time we met at Wrestlemania, wonderful as the thought of losing to me would be."

Another chuckle, a light one this time, one Shawn felt. He'd never realised how easily this man laughed, and how it made others want to smile as well. He had to admit, not having been given the chance to really get to know this man had proved to be a definite loss. Shawn was pretty sure he could get used to him being around.

"Oh, trust me, I enjoyed that Wrestlemania. The gasp of anger and surprise after I low-blowed you stays with me to this day. That wasn't what reminded me, though."

"Then what was it?" Shawn asked quietly, watching Chris' lips turn upwards at the thought of that Wrestlemania match. They'd torn the house down that year, their match had been acknowledged by many to be the best one there. They meshed well together.

For a moment he thought Chris would answer the question, but the blond man shook his head and looked up – only barely – at Shawn with a wicked smile.

"Now that, i Shawn /i , would be telling."

Shawn raised an eyebrow, catching the way Chris was skirting around the subject. Perhaps it was something personal, or he wanted to make it another game of theirs. That was fine, Shawn didn't expect Chris to bare his soul, not to him and not while standing in a rather busy hallway. Casually he moved away from the door, allowing some of the other wrestlers to dart in and finally take a well-earned shower. Something they should have done the moment their match had finished, Shawn figured, but the buzz of Wrestlemania coursed through everyone. He couldn't blame them for riding the wave of wrestling success and forgetting about mundane things such as showering.

"Let's go somewhere else, I need to sit down," he muttered, mentally tracing a map of the place and trying to remember where everything was. He just caught the look of concern, and it made him scowl. Chris worried too much about him. He was Shawn Michaels, he'd cope. Shaking his head, he led Chris to the spot he knew had been set aside for wrestlers to eat at.

"You know, you can go to the lobby if you want. I'll find my way," Chris offered, but Shawn shook his head again. He'd find Hunter later. His friend was so tied to wrestling that he'd be easy enough to find, and Shawn knew Hunter would prefer spending this time with his family, though he'd never admit it.

Ignoring the stench of unhealthy-looking healthy food – and they were supposed to eat that? –Shawn motioned for Chris to sit down. The other man shrugged, and then did so. The place was currently occupied by a few wrestlers, most Shawn didn't know well, but beside the murmurings of Sandman talking to Dreamer in a corner, all was quiet. They'd be able to talk pretty openly, what with Dreamer almost asleep and Sandman too out of it to notice.

"Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

There was no way that Chris was here and dealing with Shawn while he could be busy catching up with Benoit, Copeland, and the other Canadians. With a wry grin Shawn wondered why the most frustrating people he knew were always Canadians. Chris was definitely frustrating, because Shawn just couldn't figure out what the man was thinking.

"I said hi. They were done pretty early, so it worked out. I saw your match on the monitor and decided you needed cheering up."

"Was it that obvious that I was annoyed?"

"To me it was."

Not really the answer he'd been looking for, but it would do. At least it didn't sound like everyone had caught on, or at least not their youngest fans. Cena was the biggest babyface around, after all, boos or not, and he didn't need Shawn bringing him down like that. That was the job of all those know-it-all smarks Hunter ranted to him about.

Funny how little they spoke when meeting, Shawn realised as he watched Chris survey the room, eyes appearing to drink in every wrestling related quirk. The water bottles thrown in one corner, the semi-finished sandwiches and salads, abandoned in haste, and the towel dangling precariously from a chair. There was something about the way Chris looked at it that fascinated him. It wasn't longing, it wasn't distaste, but it was a strange mix of the two. Like he was worried, yet satisfied with it all at the same time. Quite like Shawn felt sometimes.

"Do you miss it?"

It hit Shawn that this was the first serious question he'd asked the man. At least when looking at it from a wrestling point of view. He was curious, wanted to know how Chris saw wrestling now. Did he look at it with annoyance, or did he miss it? How did he look at the business that had controlled him for so long? Hell, Shawn even wondered what Chris saw when he looked at him. An old, broken, tired man, or the Heartbreak Kid Shawn Michaels everyone looked up to?

"I miss some parts of it," came the soft reply. "I miss the excitement, the feeling of living my childhood dream, and I miss my friends."

"What don't you miss?"

Chris smiled, hands fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. More out of habit than anything else, almost like he was nervous about the direction this conversation was taking.

"The politics, the drama, everyone pretending to be someone else. I hate having to figure out if I'm talking to the man, or to the person that man would like to be."

Blue eyes met. Something about the way Chris was talking to him hit home, caused Shawn to wonder if he was the one Chris was talking about. But then, somewhere in the relaxed tone Chris was talking in, he also recognized admission. Perhaps Chris himself had been guilty of that too, finding it easier to live a lie than to be true to who he was. Most guys, if not all, had found that out the hard way.

"I think we all have that, deep down."

"Even those that have earned the right to do as they damn well please?"

Shawn nodded, realizing Chris already knew the answer to that question. Somehow their conversation, which had been joking and humorous mere minutes before, had turned serious. It was both annoying and liberating, this turn of events. On the one hand Shawn felt too exhausted to really think about this, but on the other hand having more than just a passing talk with Chris was pleasant. It made things more than just a game.

It suddenly hit Shawn that that had changed. He'd been so very pleased with the shallowness of their conversations – though somehow he felt there was a deeper meaning hidden somewhere – yet now he was more than curious to find out how Chris' mind worked.

"Yes, even those."

Shawn paused, memories getting to him. Of a young boy, watching wrestling, enthralled by what he saw. Of his first show, the rush of adrenaline, and that very first win. Oh how he wished he could have remained like that. He wouldn't change anything, but at the same time he wished he could.

"I'm sorry, I'm not exactly giving you much incentive to come back, now am I?" Shawn muttered, forcing himself to smile. Chris was quiet again, just watching him, and Shawn could almost hear the wheels turning.

"You are, actually, you just don't realise it."

Before Shawn had time to contemplate yet another confusing statement by his newfound friend, his attention was drawn towards the other side of the room. Chris realised it as well, turning his head to find out what Shawn was looking at. The annoyed sigh would have been comical, only Shawn wasn't amused. He wasn't done talking yet.

"Hunter! Hope you're feeling better?"

Shawn watched as the two exchanged pleasantries, the curiosity on Hunter's face clear. He moved, allowing his friend to sit down next to him, and brushed a hand through his hair. More and more, he got the feeling that he should be feeling uncomfortable with this – and he was – only he didn't know why.

"I'm fine. I just need some rehabilitating, that's all. Nothing for you to worry about."

Defensive, unnecessarily so, and Shawn eyed his friend wearily. Why the two had always clashed, he really didn't know, and it didn't help any. Especially when Chris got up, leaving Shawn unable to come up with a reason why he shouldn't.

"Well, I should be off. I didn't really tell Jess where I was going, though I think she must have guessed. I expect her to be pretty angry with me."

Chris paused, giving a wry smile.

"Hunter, say hi to Steph for me. Please tell her I miss the creative process of insulting her, as always. And Shawn, I think I'll remind you some other time."

A wink, then he was gone, and Shawn still wished he could come up with a reason to stop him. That last answer hadn't made sense, and he wanted – no, needed – to continue asking about it. But, with Hunter looking at him curiously, and the aches and pains flaring, he simply didn't have the time.

Next time, perhaps.


End file.
